Black and White
by Sweetdeath04
Summary: Two years, chained to a wall at the bottom of a pit. Two magical creatures, one of dark and one of light. Together they bond. Together they survive.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or anything related to it or Arthurian Legend and am making no profit from torturing Morgana.

**A.N. **_So, the years between Seasons Four and Five for Morgana and Aithusa were pretty much summed up in under five minutes in the show and that's not quite enough for me so this is my new 'baby', so to speak. I have a feeling that this is going to become a monster-length fanfic and anyone who knows me is well aware that I'm horrific at updating. So my New Years' Resolution is to update this fic once a week. It'll be a nice break from my dissertation, I figure. I hope you all enjoy!_

_**Black and White**_

**Prologue**

They escaped in the same manner as they were captured- in a rush of pure adrenaline and blind panic. There was no well thought out plan, no heroic rescue. No fortuitous vision had been provided to guide the way. There was only a moment where fate, circumstance and luck combined their powers, and woe betide the person who missed such a moment.

Morgana did _not_ miss that moment. She couldn't afford to. It had been the first of its kind in over two years and she could not wait for another to occur, if it ever did. Neither could Aithusa. Using her magic freely and without caution for the first time in so long, she sent guards running towards a set disturbances that she had caused, only to allow her to proceed back to the pit unhindered. She prayed that no one found the Sarrum until Aithusa, at least, was free.

And so she ran, moving as swiftly as her frail body would allow her. She knew the route to the pit well- the first time she had been brought before the Sarrum she had been blindfolded, not that it was needed. The light that she hadn't seen in months had left her eyes watering and she was unable to do much more than squint though it. But she had given the guards no trouble and it was many moons ago that they finally believed her to be a broken women, beyond attempting to escape.

Perhaps she _was_ broken, but she had more to live for than they could possibly imagine and she could not live, not truly live, inside this particular dimension of Hell.

_Left, right, left, left, straight ahead, right, down the steps-_

Morgana froze as she heard the clattering of mail and armour along with muted conversation beneath her. Guards. Here, more than anywhere, was where the escape could go wrong. Here, she could not give herself away.

What could she do? What could she do? She was wasting time!

Quietly, she shuffled down the staircase, hiding herself behind stone pillars that lined it. Three guards, as expected, she observed. One talking, one nodding along politely and one obviously not paying attention whatsoever. She'd start with him.

"_Ádumbian,"_ she breathed, and she felt the hot flood of magic flow though her although there was no noticeable effect. She performed the incantation a second and third time on the other guards. The final time there was a noticeable effect- the guard who had been rambling on to his colleagues falling silent even thought his mouth still moved.

Silenced, all of them. Perfect. Morgana stood, unafraid to reveal herself when these men couldn't alert anyone else to her presence. Three men, three different reactions. One man stood, staring at her with an expression of terror on his face. That pleased Morgana- she had lived in terror for two years because of these men. They deserved to suffer even a little of that same fear. Another man drew his sword, but he was too slow. The third sprinted towards her, ready to tackle her to the ground, using his own body as a weapon. It would have worked, too, if Morgana hadn't been prepared.

"_Swefe nu!"_ Morgana thrust her hand out towards him, the action helping her direct her magic. The guard staggered, then fell back down the steps into his fellow guard with the sword, asleep. She quickly cast the enchantment again, before the other guard could untangle himself from his sleeping companion. Her third and final opponent was backing away from her, sweat beading on his brow, his chain mail clinking as he trembled before her.

She approached him, backing him into a wall, but didn't get too close. She was well aware of the dangers of concealed weapons. "Please! Please don't hurt me," he whimpered and Morgana snarled in disgust. _This_ was the sort of coward that had been jailing her? Pathetic.

"Oh I have no intention of hurting you or your friends," she flicked her eyes towards the fallen guards. "I just told them to go for a little nap." The poor soul almost looked relieved, so she continued. "The Sarrum's punishment for allowing me to escape will be far worse than anything I can do to you, believe me! _Swefe nu!_"

His sleep would not be peaceful.

And so, she continued. Reaching the lip of the pit, she blasted the heavy covering into pieces. Below her, Aithusa was in a pitiful state. The noble creature didn't have the same _freedom_ she had been afforded these past few months, if it could be called that, and Morgana wasn't sure if the dragon would be able to walk out of the fortress, let alone fly. But Aithusa squawked up at her, sounding happy for the first time in _so_ long.

Morgana barely glanced at the mechanism for dragging prisoners up to the top of the pit by their chains, before rejecting the idea of using it to help Aithusa up. _"Inbringe cume mec,"_ she gestured with her fingers, determined not to hurt her dearest friend in her haste to rise her out of the cell.

Together again, Morgana unlocked and disposed of the chain around Aithusa's leg with a gesture, then wrapped her arms around the crippled creature. They hadn't escaped yet and she knew they might not get out with their lives, so she wouldn't miss this one opportunity to tell Aithusa how much she cared for her, should she never get another chance. The dragon's steps were awkward and faltering, but she could move under her own power, which relieved Morgana to no end. But sneaking out of a fortress with a dragon was impossible.

Desperation fuelled her power, as it had done in the past. Clutching Aithusa, she whispered the spell into her neck. "_Áberan ús forƥweg_!" _Take us away,_ she though. _Please, just take us away!_

A wind surrounded them and Morgana threw everything she had into the spell. She had to get them out of this nightmarish place- she had to get them to safety. All the energy was sucked out of her and she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness- into oblivion- as they travelled but she tightened her grip on Aithusa and clung on, even as she lost her hold on consciousness.

* * *

Daylight was fading when Morgana awoke, sprawled out on a bed of dying leaves under a tree. Under many trees, she noticed. She wasn't sure where they were, but she didn't remember any forests near the Sarrum's fortress in Amata. Surely they were safe, if only for the night?

Morgana rolled towards the source of heat at her side and raised a hand to Aithusa's face, running it over the battered dragon lovingly. One sad eye opened and both creatures of magic stared at each other, unable to believe that they might really be free. Aithusa snuffled, nuzzling her head against the kind hand.

"_Sleep," _Morgana heard a voice flit through her head. "_Now it is my turn to protect you._"

**A.N.**_ And that's the prologue. For the main story, we'll go back to after Morgana escapes Camelot and Aithusa saves her at the end of Season Four. Spells are taken from Merlin or made up using an Old English translator! Please let me know what you think so far!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or anything to do with Arthurian Legend.

**A.N.**_Thanks to everyone who reviewed the prologue! I'm glad you like it! I hope you enjoy the first chapter!_

**Chapter One**

_Two and a Half Years Previously_

Morgana lay on the cold ground, staring up at the sky long after the little dragon, or, at least what she assumed was a dragon, though it made little sense, had flown away.

Arthur had won, she had been defeated and Camelot was once again in the hands of her brother. And she had almost been killed. Not by Arthur's hand. Not by Gwen's or Merlin's or any of Arthur's most trusted knights. Not even by the hand of Emrys. No, she had nearly died at the hand of an anonymous guard who was no longer alive to receive the glory.

That was unacceptable.

And it would be _completely_ unacceptable if she were caught and killed, so soon after her unlikely salvation, because she was too tired to move to a safer place. Her hovel was out of the question and she was still too weak to travel much further. She'd have to find somewhere that she could conceal herself in the cover of darkness whilst she regained her strength.

The aftermath of a magical healing was always exhausting, much like recovering from a long illness, except that, after a decent number of hours sleep, she was usually brimming with energy. But right now she could not afford to sleep.

Gingerly, she pushed herself to her feet and probed at her tender side with still bloody hands. If anyone had looked at her now, they would not have seen the evil witch of Camelot, but instead a woman with wonder, and perhaps a hint of confusion in her eyes. _Why_ had that dragon saved her? Was it even a dragon at all? She had thought that Uther had driven the species to near extinction with Arthur finishing off his fathers' work. Morgana shook her head, now was not the time to ponder over such things- she needed to move.

Steadying herself briefly against the trunk of a tree, she began to move forward. All she had to do was keep placing one foot in front of the other and everything would be alright.

* * *

Her magic had returned. She wasn't sure when nor how, but sometime between her miraculous healing and when she had started to make her way to what she hoped was safety, Morgana's magic had returned to her. She had discovered this when she had first started to cover her tracks and decided to try using magic, just in case.

To say that she was glad to have it back was an understatement, but she was slightly resentful that it had abandoned her when she had needed it most.

Nevertheless, she would live to fight another day and right now, that was what counted. She had continued walking until darkness had made it almost impossible to see where she was going, making it difficult for her to find her own trail to cover it. Deciding she was far enough away from the citadel for the time begin, she curled up in the shelter of a tree, inside a rotted and hollowed out tree truck. Not the cosiest of beds for the night, but with a few protective wards around the general area, it would suffice.

She was too tired to gather wood for a fire, and it would make an obvious indicator for anyone who was looking for her, so she curled up, with one last look at the sky for a fleeting glimmer of white and finding none, and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

When Morgana woke, the sky was still dark and she did not feel refreshed in the slightest. She didn't have to wonder why she had woken- she knew instinctively that someone, or something, was close by. She doubted it was an animal, even they stayed away from her wards.

Carefully, quietly, she lifted herself up and peeked out of her hiding place- and gasped.

If she had thought today's events could not get any more bizarre, she was wrong. For there, mere feet away from her, was her unlikely saviour. Hoping not to startle the creature, she crawled forward for a better look.

It was a dragon, it had to be. She felt her amazement grow in her chest, filling her completely. At some point she had convinced herself that there had been no dragon at all, that it was just an apparition from the depths of her subconscious mind, a hallucination. And the healing? Well, she was dying- her magic had kicked into self defence and acted without her need to control it.

But all her excuses had been for naught, for here, right in front of her, was a tiny, white, baby dragon!

A tiny, white, baby dragon that seemed to be trying to light a campfire of soil and dead leaves, and was chirping its frustration every time the flames from its mouth caught on the leaves, then guttered and died.

Morgana couldn't stop the giggle that rose in her throat. The dragon turned at the noise then chirruped happily and made its way towards her with a jump and a flap of its wings, without any compunction. She held out her hand and it nuzzled against the palm happily. Morgana felt the scales of its face and head, and traced them with a finger. They were smooth, warm and softer than she had expected. The dragon must be very young indeed, she thought, as she had heard that a grown dragon's scales could repel all sorts of weaponry.

That, and the fact that the little creature was now attempting to curl up in her lap like a child.

Morgana lay back down inside her hiding place, the dragon now curled up beside her, and slept a little warmer.

* * *

In the days that followed, Morgana began to wonder whether she had acquired a pet dragon, on the dragon had found a pet human.

She, for the dragon was a she (Morgana had felt bad calling her an it, even in her head, so one morning she decided to check whether the little one was male or female, much to the dragon's disgust), had taken to fluttering around Morgana during the day whilst she travelled, occasionally darting off to chase a rabbit or a hare. As dusk approached she would hunt, and often brought back more than enough food for both herself and the Priestess. The first time she had disappeared for a few hours, only to return with a dead plump hare clutched between her jaws, she had ripped it apart with ease and dumped a good portion of it right in Morgana's lap before going back to the half she had kept for herself, devouring it with a satisfied smile on her face. She had, however, seemed somewhat insulted when Morgana insisted on cooking the meat over their camp fire, but it didn't stop her from bringing back food for her new friend each night. It also didn't stop her from curling up on Morgana's lap after her meal and dozing by the heat of the fire until Morgana was tired enough to sleep.

The little dragon's appearance had brought a sense on peace to Morgana's life that had been missing, as of late. With her, there was no deception, no scheming. She had a wondrous innocence that Morgana admired, and truthfully, was somewhat envious of. It had been so long ago that her own innocence as to the ways of the world had been shattered that she felt a growing need to protect in her young companion.

But the peace the white dragon had brought with her had a companion of its own- contemplation, something Morgana was sorely in need of. Since her sister's death, she had begun to drive herself mad with an overpowering need for revenge. Revenge that had almost resulted in her death. Her failure at the hands of Emrys had made her rethink her previous plans and she was beginning to see where he had an advantage over her. Emrys had not only power on his side, but experience and obvious learning. He had to, to have been able to strip Morgana of her powers so completely. Morgana was sure that if it wasn't for the appearance of the little dragon, her powers would have been lost for good, not to mention her life.

Morgana, on the other hand, had only a handful of tools at her disposal. Yes, Morgause had taught her much, especially in the last year they had together. Morgause had been steadily weakening and had accepted her fate long before Morgana had. It had driven her sister to teach her all she could with what time she had left. But the words of the kind druid, Aglain, who had been mercilessly slaughtered by Arthur's men, came back to her. That it would take _many_ years for her to understand her powers, let alone use them.

It was this particular line of contemplation that had allowed Morgana to form a new plan- one that didn't include the death of her half-brother, or the claiming of her birthright. It was time for her to expand her education. Time for her to explore her powers to their fullest extent. Time for her to become a High Priestess of the Old Religion in more than just name.

Morgause had a series of old haunts where she had stored away various artefacts, tools, and most importantly, books. Morgana's plan was to visit these refuges, or at least those that she knew of, and gather what she could. Then she would find a place to settle, perhaps one of her sister's hideaways or perhaps the Isle of the Blessed. And there, she would study, striving to learn all she could so that she wouldn't be caught so unawares again.

As for Emrys, he was an old man. Perhaps, by the time she had finished her education and was ready to overthrow Arthur's rule, he would have keeled over and died in whatever hole in the ground he had appeared from in the first place.

**A.N. **_Sorry it's such a short chapter! Next time Morgana begins her education, not only on magic but also on dragons! After this, chapter's should be much longer, I promise! Please let me know what you think!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Merlin and anything else related to Arthurian Legend does not belong to me.

**A.N. **_Thanks so much for everyone's kind comments on the last chapter! I'm really sorry this is so late, but I've had a mass amount of coursework for university and assessment centres for jobs to attend, which has kept me from writing! Sorry!_

**Chapter Two**

The seasons began to change, and the two companions changed with them. Aithusa had visited many kingdoms with Morgana, as she continued on her quest for knowledge, but as Samhain approached they had settled in one of the cosier hideouts of Morgause's. It was on the southern border of Deira, a kingdom that welcomed magic in all its forms, but just north of Amata, run by Lord Sarrum, a man who's attitude to magic made Uther's look genial. It was because of this that their journey to Deira had taken so long, as they had skirted around the border of the Sarrum's lands.

Morgana had learned much on her journey, thus far. She had returned to an old haunt of her sister's in Essetir and found the equivalent of a goldmine in books. She had spent some time there with her young dragon friend, learning what she could from the tomes she was not able to take with her. Morgana had traded items that were of little worth to her endeavour, but priceless to others, for a strong horse and a steady cart and once again they set off, now with volumes of healing spells and, rather ambiguously, a book on interrogation techniques that Aithusa disapproved of immensely.

Morgana had been reluctant to travel to Daobeth, had planned to avoid it entirely. Should any of the few people who had managed to make a home for themselves there now see the little dragon they would want the innocent creature caught, slaughtered and burned. The entire kingdom had been destroyed by dragons many years before the Great Purge. But Aithusa had fluttered on ahead of Morgana and Cabal, the horse she had acquired, and refused to turn back, giving Morgana little choice but to follow her, or abandon her altogether.

If the dragon had to spend their time there covered in the cart or hiding under Morgana's skirts, Morgana decided, it was a situation of her own making.

As it happened, they encountered only a handful of people who were leaving the ruined kingdom, having given up trying to farm the land that was damaged beyond repair. Not that they stayed their long- Morgana only found one book she felt was worth taking with her, though it was one that she found _most _interesting.

It was a book on dragons. Well, actually, it was a book on a variety of magical creatures, but it had a very long and comprehensive chapter on dragons and Aithusa honestly believed it was the only chapter worth reading. Every time she caught the High Priestess with the book opened at any other chapter, she would forgo curling up on Morgana's lap and instead, would take a nap on top of the page Morgana was trying to read. After all, she didn't want Morgana to wish that a different breed of magical creature had attached itself to her. Aithusa was upset enough that she now had to share Morgana with a _horse_! Still, she knew her work had been completed successfully when Morgana stroked the top of her head and murmured, "Great and noble creature? You're more like a jealous puppy, aren't you?"

If Aithusa was upset that Morgana worked out the meaning behind her actions, she didn't show it.

And so, they found themselves travelling towards Deira. Aithusa was still growing at a steady and healthy rate and had occasionally dragged a small deer back to the campsite for the evening meal, rather than the hares or rabbits they had become so used to. She was also getting too big to comfortably sit on Morgana's lap, though it didn't stop her from trying.

As for Morgana, she was changing too. Perhaps it was her recent brush with death, or maybe Aithusa was a moderating influence on her life, but as they travelled, rather than threatening those with whom she could not trade nor pay, she had taken to doing small services for them instead. Oh, the change certainly hadn't happened overnight, and Aithusa had spent more than one night curled up on the opposite side of the campfire, giving Morgana a disapproving glare when she lapsed in her reform, but more and more the young woman was using her magic for the direct and immediate benefit of others.

Morgana had known for some time now that she had a natural instinct for healing. Many in Camelot would have scoffed at that statement, finding it, if not preposterous, at least ironic. But she had kept her sister from the clutches of death for a year, much longer than even the most talented physician could have hoped for, with only what she had taught herself. Even when she was a child, tormented by nightmares and unable to sleep, she had watched as Gaius had mixed remedies for a variety of illnesses and listened to his explanations on the uses of herbs in his work. Unconsciously, she had absorbed that knowledge and it remained with her, even to this day. She may have despised the old man, but she could not fault his work as a healer.

Mostly it was small illnesses or injuries that required very little skill for her to cure. In fact, usually all she did was speed up the healing process, rather than perform any miracle. Still, people were grateful and it was enough of a service for them to offer her oats for Cabal or food for herself and her mysterious 'pet' as the air became colder, the wind bitter and wild game scarce.

Of course, things couldn't always go according to plan. They had been asked to stay in a village, Denvorn, about a weeks' journey from Deira, as the miller's wife, Ellyn, was expecting to give birth in just a few days. Ellyn was a young thing, only sixteen years of age and absolutely terrified. And she had every right to be; Morgana was pulled from sleep only three nights after she had arrived in Denvorn during an ugly storm that, had she been paying attention to it, would have seemed foreboding. The birth was hard and on more than one occasion, Morgana had thought all hope was lost for both mother and child.

She was half right- the child, a boy, was born healthy, but Ellyn passed away a few scarce hours later.

Distraught, the miller had gathered the villagers and convinced them that Morgana was responsible for Ellyn's death. The Priestess and the dragon had been chased out of the village in a whirlwind of swords, pitchforks and fire. They only stopped their flight after darkness had fallen and they were too exhausted to go on, and if Morgana had screamed curses and let loose a barrage of explosive destruction on the wildlife that surrounded them, Aithusa didn't judge her harshly because she could see the tears in Morgana's eyes, even if she refused to shed them.

They made do with what provisions they had left and with what they could hunt and gather from the forests for the rest of their journey. During those days, Morgana would occasionally let her hand hover over one of the books on healing, but would retract rather than open the book, fearful that she might find something that she had overlooked- something that could have saved Ellyn.

And so they arrived in Deira, only a week before Samhain, and it was immediately apparent to Aithusa that they wouldn't be leaving any time soon. The winter months were fast approaching and while dragons were built to withstand the outdoors, Aithusa was not adverse to the comforts of a roof over her head and a fire to sleep beside. That, and humans did not survive quite so well in the cold as dragons did, and she had become quite attached to Morgana.

Oh, Aithusa had been warned about the witch. Kilgharrah hissed and spat whenever she was mentioned, seeing only the darkness in her. But the Great Dragon was old, embittered and above all, proud. He couldn't see that it had been _he_ and his Dragonlord, who had led Morgana down the path she now followed.

Aithusa was young and innocent and could see how events had conspired against the young Priestess much more clearly than Kilgharrah could imagine. She could see that Kilgharrah, in his desperate need for revenge against Uther Pendragon, had arranged it so that his magical daughter would become isolated and frightened. He had bargained on her truly being her father's daughter and becoming defensive when cornered between Uther and the pyre. And he had been right. She had lashed out and Uther had been destroyed in the process, granting Kilgharrah his fondest wish.

And so, when Kilgharrah had left to help his Dragonlord, Aithusa had ventured from their nest to learn if what Kilgharrah had prophesised was actually true. She had saddened to learn that it wasn't.

If Morgana had been rotten to the core, her decision would have been an easy one to make. Instead, what she found was a white strand, much like Aithusa's own colouring, woven though Morgana's destiny, hidden though it was by abandonment and betrayal. And while Aithusa knew she couldn't let that last little strand break, she was also aware that it would take more than saving the witches life to save her last shot at a destiny not wrought with death and destruction.

But it was her kin who had caused this grievance and so it was Aithusa's responsibility to fix it.

**A.N. **_Oddly enough, this was not how I expected this chapter to go. The next chapter should have in it what I thought this chapter would contain. It should be up on Wednesday or Thursday and, as previously promised, it will be a fair bit longer than any of my other chapters! Please review and let me know what you think so far!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Merlin or anything related to the Arthurian Legend does not belong to me. Except a wooden replica of Excalibur which I wasn't allowed to carry home on the plane because apparently it could be used as a 'battering device'.

**A.N. **_Thanks once again to my reviewers, particularly __**hillevi**__ and __**sergeik**__, who I haven't been able to respond to in person. All of you make my day, you really do! I had intended to upload this yesterday, but my internet inexplicably died, so I apologise for the lateness of this chapter, once again! I hope you enjoy it!_

**Chapter Three**

Samhain. The Day of the Dead. The time, it was said, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was at its weakest. This was something that Morgana knew all too well. She had, after all, first-hand experience with opening the Veil and meeting the Cailleach.

She missed Morgause, now more than ever. As Samhain Eve approached, Morgana found herself speaking to her young dragon friend more and more about her sister, her death, and Morgana's failure to take back Camelot with the last gift Morgause had ever given her. She was not afraid to admit that she had been lonely this year, lonelier than she had ever been in her life. Even with Agravaine and Helios by her side, she could not fill the aching void in her chest left by her sister. What Morgana didn't tell the dragon, was that the past months with her as a companion, she had felt far less forlorn that she had with either Agravaine or Helios.

And so, on the night of Samhain Eve, Morgana set an extra place at the table, as was custom, doused the fire that kept them warm and sat down to wait.

As night wore on, the air became bitterly cold, but Morgana refused to leave the table where the place for Morgause had been laid. Aithusa had eventually trotted away from her stubborn friends side, where she had been waiting with her, faithfully, to drag a blanket from the bed when Morgana's shivering had become too pronounced for Aithusa to bear. She shoved the blanket into Morgana's hands, that has been anxiously been playing with the healing bracelet around her wrist, and received a grateful smile for her efforts.

Morgana continued to watch for her sister. Was it really too much for her to be granted this one last moment with the one person who had given up everything for her? Was it too much to be given a chance to say 'Thank you'? Or to say that she was sorry?

Apparently so, she realised as dawn broke, filling the cottage with light. Of course she didn't deserve to see her sister- after all, it had been her who had eventually killed Morgause. Not Gaius, not Merlin. _Her_.

Aithusa raised her head from where she had been dozing when Morgana finally stood, legs stiff after sitting in the cold all night. She didn't bother relighting the fire, too tired and upset to care. Aithusa followed her as she retreated to her bed, noting the haunting despair in her eyes and vowing to be there should Morgana decide she needed comfort.

A few hours later, Aithusa was glad she had stayed, as a hand snaked out from below the blankets on the bed to brush her head, unconsciously, with its fingertips.

* * *

In the days that followed, Morgana threw herself into learning whatever she could, though, Aithusa noted, she continued to avoid the books on healing. Instead, she tackled enchantments for concealment and disguise. Oh, she already had some experience with wards that would send any unsuspecting passerby in the opposite direction, but what she now tackled was something far more sophisticated.

But it was disguise that she excelled at. Within a couple of days she had mastered a variety of enchantments that made her look like an entirely different person. There was even one that gave her the general appearance of a man! But the problem Morgana had with using these enchantments, she found, was that she was too proud. If she was going to put these spells to good use, she needed to look inconspicuous. Instead, she tended to stand in front of a mirror trying to make herself look more beautiful. And _that_ produced a look that would draw far more eyes towards her than she wished.

The most practical charm, in the end, was an ageing spell. The effect was exactly what she wanted. No one noticed an innocent, little old lady. And since the spell worked on her natural look, her appearance didn't seem artificial or false. It was perfect.

In the end, she spent more time trying to decide on a name for her new persona, than mastering the spell itself. Finally, she decided on Hilda. A nice, innocuous name for someone of that age.

Not that she ever used her new face. After all, they were so far from Camelot that no one could possibly recognise her. But Morgana was well aware that the Sarrum's men were hunting down those with magic and that they were coming closer and closer to the border every day. 'Hilda' was her last line of defence should they ever come after her- all she would have to do would be to slip around a corner ahead of them, then emerge as a little old lady and nobody would be anything the wiser.

When she tried to learn a spell to disguise her dragon friend as a cat, however, the book had coincidently went up in flames when the little dragon snored. Morgana didn't mind- she didn't think that she would like to be a cat either.

* * *

Winter was harsh, but in their cottage, with a fire in the hearth and food on the table, life wasn't so bad for Morgana and Aithusa. Aithusa would hunt for whatever food she could find in the surrounding frozen wasteland and Morgana earned a living by performing small, magical services to the people of the nearby village. Once again, she had started healing those she could, but when there was some malady with which there was a possibility of death, she continued to shy away from it, deferring to the experience of the village healer.

That wasn't to say that she had given up her quest for Camelot. Oh no, she had every intention of claiming her birthright and returning magic to the kingdom she had once called home. But she would not make the same mistakes as she had done in the past, when her plans had been rash and hasty. No, Morgana would only make one more stand for Camelot, and this time she would _keep_ it.

But deliberation and planning were necessary, as was time. And who was she to oppose the peace that time brought her in the meantime.

She had discussed her plans with the little one, of course. The dragon, whilst seeming to be completely mute, was obviously an intelligent creature, for all she liked to play the dumb animal, and Morgana would not insult her by simply _expecting_ her to go along with her plans. But the white dragon had seemed highly receptive of Morgana's idea to travel to the Isle of the Blessed when spring came. In fact, she had chittered happily, with those oh, so expressive eyes lighting up at the sound of the name of the home of magic and she had playfully nudged Morgana with her nose, which was more like roughhousing these days, now that she had gotten so big.

It didn't matter to Morgana that the her companion never spoke. She had her own way of communicating and that was enough for the Priestess. So, it came as something of a shock to Morgana, when her young friend began to communicate using words. Of a sort.

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night, as it always seems to be when the best tales begin, and Morgana was curled up under a pile of blankets in the cottages only bed, desperately trying to keep warm. The dragon lay beside her, head resting on the covers over Morgana's lap, as had become her custom. Unable to sleep, Morgana had taken to reading the book on magical creatures and, for once, Aithusa was happy to let her, for she had finally reached the chapter on dragons.

Occasionally, Morgana would read out lines from the book aloud, trying to gauge Aithusa's reaction to them.

_"Unlike other reptilian creatures, dragon eggs can lay dormant for many years and can only be hatched by a Dragonlord."_ Morgana looked down at Aithusa, who looked back with wide innocent eyes. "I suppose I should have guessed that, shouldn't I?" she asked, dryly. "After all, dragon's are apparently not extinct, so why would the Dragonlords be?" Aithusa chirped a laugh in response.

_"No one really knows how the Dragonlord hatches the dragon, and the Dragonlords are sworn to keep the secrets of their gift. However, it is speculated that the Dragonlord calls forth the dragon from the egg by giving the dragon a name, in the dragon tongue."_

Morgana paused, eyes going back to Aithusa. "I wonder what you're name is?" She asked the question more to herself than to Aithusa. "I can't keep calling you 'little one' forever." She stroked Aithusa's head lightly, and the dragon practically purred in response, "Especially now you're not so little anymore." She continued stroking Aithusa's head and went back to reading silently to herself whilst Aithusa pondered the question.

Dragons did not just give out their names willy-nilly to every passerby. The truth was, if a dragon was to willingly give their name to a sorcerer they created a bond, rivalled only by that of the bond between their kin- dragons and Dragonlords. Aside from that, invoking the name of a dragon gave a powerful sorcerer remarkable control over said dragon, if they knew how to use it. Oh, they couldn't make them do anything against their will, but the power of suggestion was a strong enough force.

It was ingrained in every dragon at birth, or, at least, it had been so for Aithusa, to keep their name a secret from all but their kin. Not only that, but Aithusa's powers of communication with those who were not her kin were still weak. She might, if she tried hard enough, be able to speak to Morgana without words, but only if she was in direct contact with her.

And what harm could it do, really? In truth, she had already developed a bond with Morgana, as had been her intent right from when she first saved her. She believed, more than anything, that with someone to trust and care for, the Priestess could be saved from a dark fate and Morgana had already demonstrated both of those qualities towards Aithusa. Trust; by taking Aithusa into her confidence, gauging her opinion and respecting it, even without words, not just permitting, but expecting Aithusa to make her own decisions. Care; by feeding her, even when they had barely enough for Morgana herself, sharing shelter with her, freeing her from that pesky animal trap in the forest- an incident that was so humiliating for the young dragon that they both swore never to mention it again.

What harm could it do, really?

And so, Aithusa closed her eyes and concentrated on that connection that had been growing at the side of her consciousness for the past few weeks. She focused, and in her mind she whispered one word.

_'Aithusa'._

Morgana's hand stilled against the little dragons head. She could have sworn she had heard someone whisper in her head, a word that she didn't understand and in a voice she didn't recognise. "What?" she breathed, and the cottage was so still that even her quiet query seemed to echo.

_'My name is Aithusa, Morgana.'_

The voice was young but strangely wise- it was an odd combination that she tended to associate with Mordred. But Mordred wasn't here right now, nor was he _female_.

Something clicked within Morgana's mind, and she looked down to find wide eyes staring up at her, begging for a response.

"_Aithusa,_" Morgana breathed in wonder, awe and recognition. "Oh, _sweetheart,_ you're name's _Aithusa_!"

She choked up, not entirely sure why, but completely aware that this was a moment that not many were privileged enough to ever be a part of. Unable to think of anything else to say, unable to _think_ at all, she wrapped her arms around the little dragon's- _Aithusa's_ neck, hugging her while tears dripped unheeded down her cheeks.

**A.N. **_I'm starting to get worried I'm making Morgana too nice. Ah well, it will all change soon enough! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please review and let me know what you think!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Merlin and anything related to Arthurian Legend does not belong to me.

**A.N. **_Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one- we're now reaching two years prior to the prologue! Enjoy!_

**Chapter Four**

With their new method of communication, of course, came a new method of arguing. Not that Aithusa and Morgana didn't get along, it was just that there were some slight issues that they disagreed about, and now they had a more vocal way of making their displeasure known than simply glaring at each other from opposite ends of the room.

Things all came to a head just before the Winter Festival. They had disagreed about the book ever since Morgana had first decided to add it to her collection. It was a book on interrogation techniques- or, rather, how to extract information through pain. Morgana had felt it could be useful.

Aithusa had though it was an abomination.

Aithusa had deemed it her purpose in life to right the many wrongs committed against Morgana and give her a reason to use her magic for the benefit of others. _Torture_ was most definitely not benefiting anyone at all. Therefore, her decision to snatch the book from Morgana's hands, when she found her reading it, and incinerate it on the spot, had seemed justified. Naturally, Morgana disagreed.

In hindsight, Aithusa could see exactly where their debate fell apart and descended into a cruel fight. Whilst their first words had been spoken in mutual distaste to the others opinion, Aithusa had put Morgana on the defensive as soon as she professed her disappointment in the young Priestess.

"_Disappointed? _You're _disappointed?_ Who do you think you are to lecture me in disappointment? You're a _child_, Aithusa, and let me tell you something, life is nothing but a steady stream of disappointments. Maybe when you _grow up_, you'll realise that. Come back and talk to me then!"

Of course, to 'come back', Aithusa had to go away in the first place. So she did. She rammed into the door with her head, frustrated that it wouldn't open, and even more so when Morgana laughed- but not with her usual, happy laugh, this laugh was bitter- and commented scathingly, "What, not going to burn down the door, too?" as she approached.

As they brushed against each other as Morgana opened the door, Aithusa was able to comment, "If you tried to keep me here, I might."

She took a few steps through the threshold and with a few flaps of her wings, she took off, not looking back. Perhaps if she had, she would have seen the look of sheer, unadulterated hurt that now graced Morgana's face.

* * *

Morgana caved to her worry after the second night. It had been cold and windy, with hail stones battering against the roof of her cottage. She had spent more of the night looking out the small window, agonising over whether she should search for Aithusa or now, than sleeping.

Yes, dragon's were born to live outdoors. They could cope with the harsh weather far better than human's would ever be able to. But Aithusa was such a small dragon, for all she had grown, and she had become accustomed to sleeping in the relative warmth of the indoors. What if something had happened to her? What if another, bigger, magical creature had decided to take her on? Aithusa wouldn't stand a chance! What if she had crossed the border and the Sarrum's men had taken notice of her- started tracking her?

Of course, there was no guarantee that Aithusa was even close by. For all Morgana knew, she had flown to warmer climes. But that didn't stop her from scouring the nearby forests where she knew Aithusa preferred to hunt as soon as dawn broke.

She walked for miles, searching for a flash of white whilst calling the little dragon's name. She didn't stop for food, nor water, and barely noticed the cold even though she had forgotten her furs in her haste to begin her search. She returned to the cottage at dusk, with nothing to show for her efforts.

* * *

Aithusa knew her behaviour was childish. She could hear Morgana calling her name- she could even see her through the crop of trees, though Morgana could not see her. But she would not approach. Not yet.

Just because _she _ knew her behaviour was childish didn't mean she wanted Morgana to know. She didn't want to prove her right. But Aithusa feared she had already done so. She had acted rashly, burning the book. It was such a silly thing to get upset over. How could she expect Morgana to trust her and to continue using her magic for selfless purposes if even _she _betrayed and abandoned her.

Another thing Aithusa didn't want to admit, but must, was that she was lonely. She missed Morgana's presence, that reassuring constant touch on her mind. She had no intention of returning to Kilgharrah, not yet at least, and where else would she find such a comfort. Her Dragonlord? No, he hadn't even visited her, or called to her since her hatching.

But the fact that Morgana was looking for her made her heart swell in hope. It meant she wasn't angry any more, that she had forgiven the young dragon for her hasty actions.

Aithusa would remain in the woods one more day, then she would return.

* * *

She lasted until nightfall. It was cold and wild game was scarce. The rivers had frozen so she couldn't even drink. In the end, she returned to the cottage with her tail between her legs.

Aithusa nudged the door open gently, not daring to fully walk inside after having spurned Morgana in the forest earlier in the day, whether she knew it or not. But she didn't have to worry. The moment Morgana saw her white head poking around the corner, she stepped towards her, dropped to her knees before her and touched their foreheads together.

"I'm sorry," Aithusa whispered in her mind.

Morgana wrapped her arms around the dragon's neck, pulling her fully into the cottage. "So am I," she replied, though the words could not be heard by anyone but them. "I promise to try and consider what you say more often. Can you forgive me?"

If Aithusa had ever considered saying no, she would have revoked it five minutes later when Morgana produced a leg of mutton. But as she lay by the fire, her friend beside her, gnawing at the meat, Aithusa felt somewhat more complete.

* * *

It had been the day that Morgana had spent searching for Aithusa, that the company the little dragon kept had been noticed by some people of the undesirable kind. In particular, it was a patrol of the Sarrum's who had heard Morgana calling Aithusa's name and, following a hunch that they would be laughed out of the Sarrum's presence, just like the first man who had reported to have seen a _dragon_ of all things, without more proof, they had followed the woman home in the dark, hiding far enough away that they wouldn't be detected, but not so far away that they wouldn't see the dragon should it return.

If only Aithusa _had_ stayed away another night, they might have given up and returned to the Sarrum empty handed. Instead, they returned with news of a powerful witch who controlled a dragon.

Obviously, the Sarrum felt that if a woman with such power that even a dragon would come to her when she called was truly so close to his own kingdom, she must not be allowed to live freely. She was, after all, an abomination of the worst kind.

And so he sent a few of his more intelligent men to the villages nearby where the witch was said to live. And it was from the information they gleaned from some of the more naive villagers, and some of the more drunken ones, that the witch in question was a healer by the name of Morgana. A lovely girl, they said, not from around these parts. No one knew where exactly she had come from, but many suspected, from the way she spoke and they manner in which she held herself, that she had not at all come from an impoverished background. That, perhaps, she had given up many luxuries to come to Deira, because of her magic. The girl had no kin that they knew of and was all alone in the world.

All alone, it seemed, apart from a young dragon.

It was not the Sarrum who put two and two together, in the end, about the witches true identity. Instead, it was one of his men who suggested, rather tentatively, for it seemed so unlikely that the most feared sorceress in the Five Kingdoms could be working as a village healer, that, could she not be Morgana Pendragon, the former First Lady of Camelot?

Fate, it seemed, had given the Sarrum a gift for his work in eradicating magic from the land.

* * *

Aithusa loved hunting. There was something exhilarating about the chase. Sometimes, she would stalk her prey, letting it run before she snatched it between her talons. Morgana pretended to disapprove of her playing with her food, but really, the young Priestess found the whole situation quite hilarious. Or, at least, she had when _playing _involved Aithusa dropping a piece of meat in her lap and looking up at her with those doleful eyes, begging her silently to levitate it through the air, navigating it through a series of twists and turns, all so Aithusa could chase it.

Aithusa had stopped that particular game after Morgana had somehow speared the meat on Aithusa's tail, making the dragon dizzy flying round in circles, only to bite the tip of her own tail. Devious woman.

But game was scarce at the moment, and Aithusa expected that she would return with nothing to show for her efforts, but she had to try. Yes, dragon's could survive for days, sometimes weeks at a time without food, after ingesting a large meal. But Morgana insisted that she eat, she was still growing after all. But money was scarce and for her to buy the amount of raw meat required to feed Aithusa, it usually meant Morgana had to go without.

Aithusa wasn't a particular fan of that arrangement.

And so she hunted. But the forests were quiet today. Quieter than usual. Even the birds that she would chase when there was nothing else left seemed to have deserted their perches.

Aithusa fluttered to a halt, landing softly on the ground beneath. Something wasn't right here.

She didn't hear the whistle of the dart as it flew though the air, but she felt it penetrate her scales, not old enough for them to have thickened, and embed itself in the flesh beneath.

She tried to take flight, to head for safety, but found herself disoriented, unable to function. Her wings refused to carry her, and when she managed to lift off, it was only to come crashing down to the earth again.

_What's happening?_ her befuddled brain wondered, panic rising in her gut. It was only then that she saw the men approaching, carrying with them chains and a net. Aithusa tried to defend herself, but her flame was too weak and it barely sent them back a few paces in shock.

As they captured her in the net, she felt the drug pull her towards unconsciousness. She needed help, she couldn't get out of this alone, she wasn't strong enough.

Her first instinct was to call out for Kilgharrah. Surely her fellow dragon would help her. But she could not feel him in her mind, and no reply was forthcoming. Her Dragonlord then. He could not fail to hear her call- they were linked from the moment he hatched her. But no words of reassurance reached her.

She was alone. There was no one else she could call! In her last moment, before darkness claimed her, in blind panic, she reached out for Morgana. Her hope was slim- it was nigh-on impossible for Morgana to hear her without direct physical contact. But she was her last hope. Her only hope.

_'Morgana, help me!'_

Unknown to Aithusa, several miles away, Morgana started so suddenly at hearing the young dragon's voice in her mind that she stumbled, nearly falling head-first into the fire she was lighting in the hearth.

As oblivion claimed her, Aithusa's hope returned when she heard Morgana call out to her, '_It's going to be alright, Aithusa, I'm coming!'_

**A.N. **_And so, we meet the Sarrum. Git. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please review and let me know what you think!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Merlin or any related entities do not belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for my own perverse pleasure.

**A.N.** _Sorry this is so late, it was rather difficult to write! Thanks once again to my three lovely reviewers, __**Your Favourite Oxymoron**__, __**Hillevi**__ (I know, it's not fair that this happened to Aithusa. She's the sweetest creature under the sun! I have a scene in mind for after they escape, but this is going to follow canon, to a degree, so don't expect happiness, fluff and bunny rabbits... well, maybe the bunny rabbits...)and __**sergeik**__ (I already want the tender hearted stuff back!). I hope you stick with me now this fic is heading to the darker end of the spectrum! Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter Five**

Morgana was panicking. She was worried, afraid, anxious, and every other synonym for those words. And for the first time in well over a year, her fear was not for herself.

She remembered a time, years ago now, when she had worried this way for Arthur and Gwen (and Merlin, though she _really_ didn't want to think about him). She remembered when she would have chased the danger that stalked either of them and faced it head on, without a thought to her own safety.

That's what she did now.

She had learned a spell after her day of fruitless searching for Aithusa, after they had argued, that allowed her to look ahead and search for a clear path towards the dragon. She could see where Aithusa had been captured and, without even bothering to saddle Cabal, she took off in that direction, hoping she could catch the dragon-nappers before they reached their final destination. She wasn't sure who they were but if they had the resources to capture a _dragon_, even if she was a little one, then surely they must be formidable foes.

Perhaps some planning would have been a good idea before she attempted this rescue venture, but time was of the essence and she had been able to feel Aithusa's panic. If she took the time to plan, there might not be a dragon left for her to rescue.

She reached the place Aithusa had been taken. She could see the scuff marks on the dirt from the men's feet and she could see the prints from the horses shoes as they had left the scene. Also, there in the muck, she could see the sharp scratches where Aithusa's talons had dug into the ground in her efforts to fight her captors. Slightly further away, almost hidden in the undergrowth surrounding the path, she noticed a thin arrow that had a miniscule drop of blood on the end. She picked it up before dropping it, almost instantly. Whatever the arrow had been coated in, it had made the tips of her fingers go numb. Angered, she spurred her horse onwards, using her magic to see the path ahead.

Amata. Morgana was well aware when she crossed the border, and she was becoming more and more suspicious as to who had captured Aithusa. The Sarrum, she knew, had an outpost- more of a fortress, really- not far from the southern border, and from what she could tell, that was where Aithusa was being taken.

It was when she was within view of the fortress that something happened that almost knocked her off her horse. It felt like a blow to the head, when it happened. It was so forceful, so unexpected, that it took her precious minutes to recover and even longer to realise what exactly _it_ was.

Aithusa was _gone_.

Aithusa was a part of her, she had been ever since they had first communicated telepathically. From that day on, she could always sense the small dragon. It was like she was an object on the edge of her peripheral vision- all she had to do was turn around, reach out and their minds could connect. Granted, the connection was limited- this was the first time that either of them had managed it without some sort of direct contact with the other. But now that object had been snatched from her and she could no longer find it. It was simply as if Aithusa was no longer there.

When she realised the implications of that, Morgana's heart leapt to her throat. She found herself desperately trying not to throw up as she attempted to sit up straight on Cabal's back. She roped her fingers through his mane and dug her heels into his side, pushing him onwards, faster and faster towards the Sarrum's keep.

Now, Morgana had a plan. She was going to confront the man who had taken Aithusa head on. And she was going to _destroy_ him.

* * *

Darkness had fallen when she reached the Sarrum's fortress. The trail, both magic and physical, had led her to this place. As she approached the gates, she witnessed the sentries stand up a little taller, a little straighter, and she laughed inside. As if their _appearance_ would do them any good. She dismounted Cabal, letting him wander off, back to the woods. If she was meant to find him again, she would. Otherwise, she would grant him his freedom.

The guards drew their weapons as she strode up to them. Coming to a halt only a few paces away, she held up her hands in the universal gesture of, 'I come in peace.' Or, in this case, 'I have no _physical_ weapons.' "What's your business here?" one of them grunted at her. She had to give the knights of Camelot their dues, they were far better articulated than these men.

"I seek an audience with the Sarrum," Morgana spoke clearly, though she didn't look directly at the men. Her face was shrouded in the hood of her cloak and one of them peered at her, trying to peek at her face. "He has something of mine," she continued, feeling slightly bad at referring to Aithusa as something to be possessed. Finally, getting sick of now both guards trying to ascertain her identity, she drew back her hood, "I believe he is expecting me."

* * *

In truth, Morgana had no idea whether or not the Sarrum had been expecting her to arrive. When she learned that he _had_, in fact, been anticipating her arrival, she felt momentarily disturbed that she had walked straight into a trap. Forcing the feeling aside, she reminded herself that she had no choice but to come here. Aithusa still needed her. She would not consider the possibility that Aithusa was dead. That could not be what her sudden and lasting absence from Morgana's awareness meant.

As she was escorted into the throne room, or the Sarrum's equivalent, with the guards heavy hands restraining her, she found she was right not to doubt Aithusa's tenacity to survive. There, in the corner of the room, the little dragon was bound and chained, unable to move. She let out a mewl at the sight of Morgana, her eyes expressing a mixture of relief and regret.

Morgana felt a weight she hadn't known had rested on her shoulders, lift at the sight of Aithusa, confined but with no obvious injuries, and she almost missed her opponent, Aithusa's capturer, the Sarrum, enter the hall and take a seat before her.

She had met the Sarrum once before, when she was only eleven years old. He had come to Camelot as a guest of Uther to compete in a tournament. At the time, she had been terrified of him, picking up on Uther's discomfort at having a guest in his citadel who was so renown in his capacity as a warlord. War, being the operative term. While Uther would slaughter anyone who dared oppose him, he would never condemn their families. The Sarrum, on the other hand, ruthlessly butchered those who resisted him and then took their wives as his 'consorts'. More often that naught, he would take their daughters too.

She hadn't understood all that what was said about him entailed, when she was younger. But she had witnessed the serving girls scurry away from him as soon as propriety would allow, had seen a few of them crying after encounters with him and had felt Uther's hand on her shoulder, heavier than was the norm, keeping her close.

She knew enough to be afraid.

Now, facing him square on, he didn't seem as terrifying as the creature that came to Camelot all those years ago. He was smaller than she remembered- older too. Well past his prime. Inactivity had caused his muscles to fade into fat and in all honesty, he didn't look much like the warlord she remembered.

Except his eyes, she conceded. They were as harsh, as cruel and as calculating as they had ever been.

"My Lady, Morgana Pendragon," he greeted her, waving a gesture at his guards. Her arms were tugged in front of her now as she was forced to her knees and another man appeared. He was obviously no random guard, however. From the build of him, he was obviously one of the Sarrum's warriors- a theory only enhanced by Aithusa's screeching from the corner. The warrior carried with him what seemed to be a regular set of metal cuffs. Morgana scoffed inwardly- didn't he realise that she could dispose of them in a instant if she wished, with her magic?

But Aithusa's wailing continued as the cuffs were fastened around Morgana's wrists and the High Priestess had a feeling that she was missing something important.

"The Sarrum of Amata," Morgana replied, throwing Aithusa a look that she hoped would tell the dragon not to worry. She could handle herself. "I see you've acquired yourself a new pet."

He laughed, and Morgana's stomach churned at the sound. His eyes brightened as though he was revelling in some sort of victory. Now she _knew_ she had missed something vital when she had willingly placed herself in the lion's den.

"Indeed I have, my lady," he stood, walking slowly towards Aithusa who tried to shuffle backwards but couldn't, restricted by the chains. He petted her head, running his hand around her jaw, almost thoughtfully. Aithusa turned her head and snapped her teeth where his hand had been, only a moment ago. Now it rested on a whip on his belt- a whip that Morgana had only just noticed- with pieces of stone and metal knotted into it. The sight of it, so near Aithusa, made the churning in Morgana's gut increase and her heartbeat raised in a mixture of fury and fear.

It must have shown on her face, for when he turned to her he said, quite mildly, "But I'm sure you wish that I hadn't. Isn't that right?"

Morgana seethed, "If you hurt her, I will destroy you." Her ultimatum was final.

So she thought. "If you try, I will have the skin flayed from its back," was his reply. He strode towards her, roughly grabbing a handful of her hair and dragging it back so she was forced to look up at him. Then he bent, so that their faces were mere inches away from each other. She was so focused on the yellow of his teeth, the old scars that decorated his skin, and his maleficent eyes that she didn't notice the dagger pressed at her throat until she felt the cold metal against her skin and heard Aithusa's cries once again.

Morgana snarled, "Do you think your toys can stop me?" she ducked her chin downwards to gesture at the dagger, feeling it scrape across the skin of her neck. Refusing to fear it, she leaned inwards, ignoring it break the fragile skin beneath. "Haven't you heard, I'm the most feared sorceress within the Five Kingdoms? I could bring this very room down around your ears without even breaking a sweat," she taunted him. With a grin, she added, "I've done such things before."

He, too, leaned towards her, and she could feel his breath against her skin. She forced herself not to flinch away in disgust. "And _I_ am the most ruthless hunter of your kind in the land. I have been destroying the likes of you before Uther even thought of looking twice at your whore of a mother." He tugged sharply on her hair, dragging her head back and Morgana couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her throat. She breathed out sharply when she opened her eyes, which had closed at the sudden pain, to find that he was almost on top of her. When he next spoke it was in a whisper, and she could feel his breath against her lips. If the situation wasn't so vile, it could nearly be intimate. "So, my lady, you just _try_ and bring me down."

There was something in his words, in his tone of voice, that made her vision blur with the panic that rose within her. Reaching out for her magic, only to push him off her- she wouldn't risk anything else until she could assure Aithusa's safety- she found... Nothing.

Her eyes widened and she tried again, only for the same emptiness to greet her. Her panic rose to full force as she realised what had happened. Somehow, he was blocking her magic.

The grin on the Sarrum's face grew as he watched her try to comprehend what he had done.

Morgana's eyes flicked between the manacles around her wrists to the chains around Aithusa and everything that had happened clicked into place in her mind. It was the chains- the restraints. Somehow the Sarrum had managed to find a way of containing her magic by forcing her into these cuffs. That was why she couldn't find Aithusa in her mind's eye- the chains she was bound in were doing the same thing.

And Morgana, foolish and arrogant as she was, had blindly allowed this to be done to her, ignoring the warnings Aithusa had tried to give her. In the end, she had unwittingly condemned them both.

She looked up at the Sarrum's malicious and mocking grin and she snapped.

Forcing herself to her feet, somehow managing not to trip on her skirts, she lunged at him with a feral scream. Morgana reached out for his throat as he danced backwards in shock to avoid her, determined to choke the life out of him. Her fingers had just brushed the leather armour he wore when she was stopped in her tracks by a vicious blow to her temple.

The large man who had cuffed her replaced his sword in its sheath, having used the pommel to knock Morgana out, nodding to the Sarrum.

The warlord looked at his favourite warrior, not showing any signs that he had momentarily feared the witch at their feet. Instead, he ordered, "Take her to the pit. Chain the dragon up with her." He stepped over Morgana as he went to exit the room. "They can keep each other company in their misery."

As the Sarrum strode out of the hall and down the corridors of his fortress, he heard Aithusa's cries echo after him and he smiled. He had captured a dragon and a High Priestess- two abominations that should never have walked the Earth. To hear such an abhorrence cry in fear was like music to his ears.

**A.N. **_Wow! That was difficult! I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and let me know what you thought!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Merlin or anything else to do with Arthurian Legend does not belong to me.

**A.N. **_Thanks once again to my lovely reviewers, __**Your Favourite Oxymoron, hillevi **__(I hate the BBC canon too. But I think you'll like the epilogue I have planned. I'm going to be as cryptic as Kilgharrah here and only tell you this- it includes both Aithusa and Morgana, gets a little closer to the legend than the BBC and takes place after the last time we see them after Camlann.)__** and sergeik**__(I honestly could not have put my feelings about these two better myself. What makes it sadder for me is that with just a little bit more time, Aithusa could easily have redeemed Morgana completely. In some ways, she already has. And that line in A Servant of Two Masters, when Morgana says she has no one left to be loyal too- for me, this is her proving that now she has Aithusa, she will stay loyal to her and protect her with everything she has ). I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

**Chapter Six**

When Morgana awoke, she found that it was not just her head that was hurting.

Her arms were burning with a feeling that could only be described as having needles jabbed into them, however they were, thankfully, beginning to go numb. Her wrists ached from the cuffs that encased them. Her hands were held above her head, making her shoulders and back scream in agony, and they were chained so high, that her body was not entirely resting on the ground.

She tried to open her eyes to see where exactly she had been imprisoned, but she didn't seem to succeed. _Seem_, being the operative word. It didn't take long for her to realise that her eyes were indeed open and that she had not been rendered blind by the blow to her temple, but, instead, she was in a place where no light had access to.

Forcing herself to stand up to relieve the stress on her arms, and making herself quite dizzy in the process, Morgana felt something brush her leg. Desperately trying not to panic, she let her eyes adjust and, catching a flicker of a familiar light colour, she calmed and rasped out, "Aithusa?"

A whine arose from the ground beside her feet that most certainly came from Aithusa. The young dragon had been chained, her wings bound to stop her from flying around their cell. Morgana tried to reach out to her in her mind, only to find that her magic was still blocked.

That would make escaping significantly more difficult, but not impossible.

"I'm sorry, Aithusa," Morgana whispered, not wanting to speak loudly in the quiet of their cell. "I've really messed this up. But I'll get us out of here, I promise you!" Morgana might not have been able to see Aithusa, but the familiar feeling of the dragons head rubbing against her leg was enough to tell her that Aithusa didn't blame her- more sorry that _she_ had managed to get captured in the first place. "Are you hurt?" Morgana asked anxiously. She remembered the Sarrum's threat all too well. A chirp answered her, which Morgana took to mean as '_No'._

She stood in silence for a little while longer as her eyes adjusted some more. There seemed to be a sliver of light getting in to allow her eyes to do so, from somewhere high above them. As things became clearer, Morgana realised that they were not in a cell, so much, as a pit, with a heavy stone slab covering the entrance far above them. Her chains, and Aithusa's, travelled up the wall to the lip of the pit, where they disappeared from view.

And so the escape attempts began.

At first, Morgana tried to break the cuffs by cracking them against the stone wall that surrounded them. For several hours, she ignored the pain in her jarred wrists and the cuts and welts that were forming there. But, eventually, she gave up. The cuffs weren't even dented.

Her mobility was limited due to the chains, so she attempted to move in the only direction in which there was any give- up. This did not go as well as Morgana had hoped, however it also didn't go as badly as it could have. With Aithusa watching on curiously, Morgana gripped the chains themselves, rather than having the cuffs on her wrists support her, as she tried to climb up them, using the wall beside her to help her get off the ground.

Initially, scaling the pit worked quite well. It was only when she began to tire that things started to go wrong. The first time her foot slipped off the chains, Morgana managed to grip tightly enough to them that she was able to right herself, instead of dropping to the ground beneath. Below her, Aithusa squawked in concern. She continued to climb, determined, at least, to get a better look at whatever was roofing this pit. Just over half way to the top, she could see that a bit of the rock had been worn away to let the chains out of the top of the pit, but even from here, she could see that it was too big, too heavy, for her to lift without her magic. It would take a team of men to do so, or some sort of mechanical system. She sighed, twisting her body around to try and see, in the gloom, if there was another way out.

That was when she slipped.

This time, Morgana was taken so unawares that she did not have the wherewithal to tighten her grip on the chains. She went plummeting down, trying to catch the chains as she went to slow her fall. Beneath her, Aithusa was screeching in alarm, and all Morgana could thing was that this was a _very _bad idea.

Somehow, her fingers grasped onto the chains again, but gravity was not on her side. She felt the skin on the fingers and the palms of her hands shred against the cold metal, but she forced herself to hold on. When she hit the ground, it was with her feet first. They slid out from under her and her shoulders and wrists jerked painfully as the chains were pulled to their limit.

Morgana lay there for a few minutes, chest heaving as she took in great gulps of air, her arms and part of her upper body dangling from her restraints. Aithusa crowded round her, prodding her gently with her nose. Even now her eyes had adjusted fully to the darkness, she could barely see the young dragon, and she assumed Aithusa could scarcely see her, though for all she knew, dragon's could have night vision. But Aithusa had picked up the scent of the blood from Morgana's palms and she drew herself up in a way that Morgana had come to realise precipitated a healing.

Nothing happened.

Aithusa was most perturbed. Even her instinctive gifts had been blocked. Morgana could feel the frustration emanating from her friend. The witch chuckled wryly, "I know how you feel."

As Aithusa curled herself around Morgana in an attempt to both warm and comfort her, Morgana found herself contemplating some fears that she hadn't realised before. Aithusa was a dragon and dragon's were creatures of magic. Were the chains harming her in ways that Morgana couldn't detect? Morgana assumed that magic was to Aithusa what air was to herself. Would they stunt her development? Make her wither away until she eventually died? Morgana didn't know- whilst she was born with magic, she didn't notice its absence until she tried to use it. Perhaps it was the same for Aithusa, perhaps not.

Morgana didn't want to be here long enough to find out.

* * *

Morgana wasn't sure how long they had been in the pit when she heard a rumbling above them, followed by the harsh light of day. As she squinted to try and see what was happening, she realised that the roof of the pit had only been pulled back a fraction of the way. She heard something drop beside her and something else slap the walls as it was lowered down on a rope. Before her eyes had even begun to adjust to the light- they streamed with tears from its brightness- the rumbling sound resumed and darkness took hold once again.

She groped in the darkness for what had been dropped down to them on the rope. The rope dangled beside her and she pulled it up to find a water skin attached at the bottom. She could assume that whatever else had been thrown down was some sort of food. So the Sarrum didn't intend for them to starve then. Aithusa found the food that had landed out of Morgana's reach and shoved it into her hands. From the feel and the smell, Morgana discovered it was a hunk of stale bread. Enough to feed her, yes, but nowhere near enough to feed Aithusa adequately. She frowned. Perhaps he _did _intend to starve them, just in a much slower, more painful method.

She took two small bites from the bread before forcing Aithusa to take the rest, ignoring her when she tried to shove it back into her hands by grasping for the water skin. Thankfully, Aithusa never seemed to need all that much water- Morgana supposed it had something to do with dragons being creatures of fire. Still, she only took a mouthful, determined to conserve it at all costs, before holding it up for Aithusa to drink from. Who knew when the Sarrum would be obliging enough to provide them with such luxuries again?

She corked the water skin again and leant back against the wall, trying not to contemplate their dire situation. Unfortunately, there was little else to do. Something pressed against her hand, and she looked down to find Aithusa nudging the last scrap of bread towards her. Morgana smiled, taking it thankfully. She would not throw away such kindness- not when it was all they had to live on.

* * *

It was not long before they found other issues with their new domain. The first that arose was that of the latrines. Or, rather, the lack of them. Not even a chamber pot had been provided, and Morgana certainly didn't want to live in her own filth. Nevertheless, there seemed to be little other option. So, eventually, she overcame her distaste for the whole idea, hitched up her skirts and stretched her chains as far as they would reach before relieving herself, and settling down again as far as she was able in the opposite direction.

Aithusa was far more bashful about the whole process, walking around with her tail between her legs for an entire day before finally succumbing to the basic need.

They had learned to tell the passage of days by how often they received food and water. Once each day the lid of the pit would be pulled back just enough to allow a silent guard to drop a chunk of bread down and to pull up the water skin, refill it, and lower it back down, only to leave them to their darkness once more. They knew it was night time outside their new domicile when the temperature dropped significantly. Aithusa had taken to curling herself around Morgana to keep the young witch from freezing to death in the harsh winter nights.

As the days passed, Morgana felt increasingly helpless. She was aware that the longer she waited to try and escape, the less chance she would have of it succeeding. Without adequate food or water, she just wouldn't be strong enough. However, she just didn't see a way of escaping. She couldn't climb to the top of the pit and wait until the guard who delivered their food opened it because he always opened it from the other. She had tried hollering for an audience with the Sarrum, but had gone ignored. She'd even gone so far as to try the old, 'The dragon's sick and maybe dying' trick. Needless to say, that hadn't worked either.

As the days passed, she could feel her body getting weaker. The scraps of food she ate only seemed to make her hungrier. Still, she gave what she could to Aithusa. She was still growing and needed it more.

Hope finally came on their seventh day in the pit when, along with their rations of bread and water, a slab of raw meat for Aithusa was dropped down. The young dragon leapt on it with glee and devoured it rapidly, contentedly licking her jowls when she was done whilst she watched Morgana fill herself with bread.

**A.N. **_Yeah, sorry this chapter's not exactly up to scratch. I've been ridiculously sick (seriously, I can't look at a computer for more than ten minutes at a time without my head going all funny- which is really awkward when I'm trying to do my university honours project in programming) so it's all a bit disjointed. I should probably also warn you now __**the rating for this fic will increase to M in the next couple of chapters or so.**__ Yeah, dark times. Hope you all enjoyed this, I realise it was a bit of a filler chapter, but really, there's only so much you can write about being trapped at the bottom of a dark pit... Please review!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Merlin or anything else to do with Arthurian Legend does not belong to me.

**A.N. **_Thanks again for your lovely reviews, __**My Favourite Oxymoron, hillevi **__and __**sergeik**__(I'm really glad you think that way about these two! You've pretty much described what I'm trying to portray! And I agree, the Sarrum should get the sh*t kicked out of him for what he did. I'll be honest though, apart from the next two chapters and the epilogue, I actually have no idea how this is going to go, so I'll do my best but no promises! Thanks so much for reviewing!) who I could not reply to in person. You folks make my day! You really do! Enjoy the next chapter!_

**Chapter Seven**

Time passed and Morgana rapidly lost count of how many days she had been held captive in the pit. Even with that little bit of extra food to commemorate the passage of another seven days, she found it nigh on impossible to keep track of the passage of time. Even more so, she was finding it difficult to _care_.

She was aware that her mind was slowly beginning to unravel. Her isolation, with only her thoughts to keep her company, was not good for her. Never before had she been this alone. In Camelot she always had someone, usually Gwen, to talk to, to distract her from herself. Afterwards, she had Morgause or Agravaine or Helios or a number of other people she had separate dealings with to talk to. Even before she learned how to communicate with Aithusa, they had always been able to understand each other. Now, that connection only went one way. Aithusa could comprehend what Morgana said, when she had the energy to say anything at all these days, but Morgana had always relied on some small movement, or an expression or a look in Aithusa's amazingly comprehensive eyes to understand what the dragon was implying. But now, Aithusa had been chained and her gestures were minimal and Morgana had been blinded by the dark, making any communication between the two completely ineffective.

She tried to keep speaking though, sometimes just voicing her thoughts aloud, because she wouldn't wish this slow unhinging on anyone, let alone Aithusa.

The sleep deprivation most likely did not help her state of mind, Morgana considered, though, she thought wryly, it wasn't as if it was something she was unaccustomed to. But it was impossible to truly sleep with her hands cuffed above her head and her body ever so slightly raised off the ground beneath. Occasionally, between the lack of sleep and the lack of food, she would slip into unconsciousness, her body giving up for a short time under the strain of captivity. These moments perhaps were saving her life, but she generally awoke feeling worse than before.

However, recently, when Aithusa thought her to be asleep, she had heard the young dragon's pained whimpers.

They broke her heart.

The real problem was, with only a few seconds of light each day, Morgana could not really see what was wrong with her. A number of scenarios ran through her head; Maybe it was under nourishment, maybe her chains had rubbed her scales until they made it through to the skin underneath, maybe it was just plain sadness.

Usually, during the time that the pit lid was lifted, Morgana would close her eyes against the harsh, painful light. And it _was _painful, in more ways than one. Yes, it hurt her eyes which had become so accustomed to the dark. But every time the lid was pushed aside, she saw freedom, and then remembered her inability to reach it and _that_ hit her like a punch to the gut, no matter how many times she saw it. And so, she had given up looking- given up _caring_. About herself. About anything, really.

Except, it seemed, Aithusa.

The next time she heard the rumble of the stone being pushed aside, she only closed one eye, and ducked her head to avoid the worst of the light. Her eyes adjusted more quickly than they would have if she had stared at the light with both eyes wide open.

What she saw made her sick. What little that was in her stomach tried to escape and she had to force the bile back down her throat.

Her _wings. Aithusa's wings!_

No wonder the little dragon- not so little anymore, however, as she nearly spanned the entire width of the pit- had been crying out at night. The chains that bound her wings had horrifically stunted their growth. Bones that should have grown straight had curved around the restraining devices and the skin was so thin it was translucent stretched across them.

Each of Aithusa's bones were shown so clearly that Morgana thought that if there was light for a long enough time, she could learn a great deal about the dragons skeleton, beginning with the number of bones it included.

She was so shocked by her young friends appearance that she didn't recover until after the lid was replaced and it was too late for her to do anything else.

* * *

When she first tried to yell up to the guards who dropped down their food, Morgana's voice broke with disuse and her words came out a garbled mess. But for a week, she kept screaming up at them every time the pit was opened. Yelling for an audience with the Sarrum. Pleading that they listen to her. Threatening them with what she could do to them when she escaped. She yelled until her throat was sore and her voice little more than a whisper.

They never answered.

Her drive, that had returned so suddenly, was weakening. With every day that passed, her resolved cracked a little more. Two weeks passed before she stopped. If they hadn't listened to her pleas then they wouldn't now. In the darkness, she let tears of misery at Aithusa's pain trickle down her cheeks, though she tried to keep her sobs silent.

It was the day after she gave up that the Sarrum decided to call upon her.

"Morgana Pendragon," the mocking voice sent a chill down her spine. When she did manage to sleep, she dreamt, and that voice haunted her like a restless spirit. "What is it that you would ask of me?"

Her voice was quiet, but her desperation lent it the strength to carry it to the top of the pit. "I will do anything you ask of me. You can torture me, you can kill me, you can do whatever you want with me and I will not try to stop you. I will not resist. But you must let the dragon go free."

He howled with laughter. "My Lady, I do not believe you understand the position you are in. I can _already_ torture you. I could kill you on a whim if I wished. And even if you were to try and stop me, you do not have the power to do me any significant damaged." She could _hear_ the grin in his voice, "I keep you hear because it suits me. So, really, you have nothing to bargain with for your abominations freedom."

She looked up in time to see him make a gesture at the guard to close the pit. Fury and desperation fuelled her scream, "Wait!"

He looked down at her and his eyes were filled with taunting laughter.

"At least unchain her wings. She can't fly anyway- this hole in the ground is too small!" Her voice broke and she was disgusted by her own weakness. But the Sarrum had not moved to cover the pit again. Instead, he knelt down, over its edge.

"Perhaps we _can_ come to some arrangement, witch." His grin turned malicious and her stomach roiled. "But you will have to sing for your supper."

His laughter was the last thing she heard, echoing in her mind. His words passed through her thoughts, even when she tried to think of something else. Aithusa whined, nudging Morgana with her head, displeased that Morgana would risk, what? She did not know- for her sake.

'_Sing for your supper'._

She had used those words herself once, when she had forced Sir Knight- Gwaine, she thought he was called- to fight for a scrap of food each night. Somehow, she didn't think that fighting was what the Sarrum had in mind for her however.

More time passed and they both grew steadily weaker, but still, the Sarrum did not call on her. Eventually, frustrated with the waiting and anxious to free his words from her mind, she called up to the guards, "What will he have me do?"

As usual, her question was greeted with silence.

* * *

The Sarrum, it seemed, knew how to break a woman. He waited, patiently, for her to give up hope, only to restore it again before leaving her to her own thoughts. It was a pattern Morgana would become very familiar with and eventually, she learned it well enough to use it to her advantage. But that time was still far off. To learn of it, she must endure it.

If it hadn't been for the scraps of food that were dropped down to them, Morgana would have thought the Sarrum had forgotten all about her and about her request. Perhaps he had, she thought bitterly on one of her worse days. And he had also forgotten to tell the guards to stop feeding them.

Her existence, if it could even be called that, was a lonely one.

It was only when she stopped trying in vain to pull information from her guards that the Sarrum visited Morgana once again.

The rumbling of the stone slab being pulled away had become something of a permanent fixture in Morgana's mind. She barely noticed it anymore. But on this day, the scraping of stone on stone did not stop. She saw more light than she had seen in days? Weeks? Months? It flooded the pit and curiosity forced her to look up. She blinked away the liquid that welled in her eyes as she faced the stark light and through the blur she could see the Sarrum, his figure imposing, glancing down at her.

The rumbling stopped, the pit fully uncovered. No one spoke.

Morgana could feel panic, and for some strange reason, relief, pooling in the pit of her stomach, raising her heart beat and compelling her to breathe in short, sharp gasps. Aithusa screeched, obviously feeling the same terror.

The Sarrum, her captor, her judge and her own personal bane, looked down upon them like some sort of almighty god. "So, witch, will you truly do _anything_ for your pet. Anything at all?"

Feeling like a helpless bug beneath his giant boot, she croaked out her answer, "Yes. Anything."

He looked to the side and made a gesture with his right hand, his fingers flicking up. "Pull her out of there."

As the chains around her wrists jerked upwards, her shoulders strained and she barely had the wherewithal to grab the chains with her hands to ease the pressure, she found her body being dragged up the wall.

Aithusa screamed like a wraith from the netherworld and it did nothing to help the sense of foreboding that closed in around Morgana, as she was pulled steadily closer to what would become her own personal hell.

**A.N. **_Yeah, sorry this one's a bit short but I wanted to end it here. The next chapter will be rated M. I hope you enjoyed it. I actually know what's going to happen in the next chapter so it should be easier for me to write! Please review!_

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Merlin or anything else to do with Arthurian Legend does not belong to me.

**A.N. **_Thank you to __**Your Favourite Oxymoron, hillevi and sergeik(**_In a few chapters time, I'm planning on Aithusa's true thoughts on Morgana actions to protect her (and everyone else's lack of action) to become known when there is a rather horrific scene. It's the sort of stuff that's coming up that will change Aithusa from the adorable baby dragon we all know and love to an angst-ridden toddler dragon. Like you said so eloquently, what happens to Morgana will have consequences for Aithusa. Thanks so much for reviewing! I hope you continue to enjoy the fic!**)**_ for their kind words, as usual! You guys are the greatest! I'm sure you've all noticed that this fic has been moved up to an M rating, so if that sort of stuff makes you squeamish, you might want to skip this chapter. Enjoy!_

**Chapter Eight**

Morgana was being dragged through the halls of the fortress by two guards. Before the bag had been placed over her head, she had watched through streaming eyes as the Sarrum stalked off ahead of them, carelessly tossing an order behind him for someone to make sure she was given a bath before he came back. An odd request, she thought, but didn't have time to think on it now. Her legs were too weak to keep up the quick pace of the guards and she was too disoriented to try and work out the direction she was being taken. But it didn't matter. If she was going to be given a bath then she would need to be stripped from her clothing. The thought of doing so before these brutes of men made her skin crawl, but that wasn't the point. Unless they planned to cut the dress from her, the cuffs that encased her wrists would have to be removed. Maybe, just maybe, she would be granted a moment of opportunity to escape.

But then she would have to find Aithusa, and she wasn't sure how she could do that having no idea where she was anymore. She certainly couldn't leave _without_ the dragon.

She'd cross that hurdle when she came to it.

She heard a door open in front of them and she was dragged over its threshold before being unceremoniously dumped in a wooden high-back seat with someone holding her down. Not that she could have just gotten up and left if she had wanted to. It was another flaw in her hastily put together plan. She had no strength. When she had been dragged from the pit she had tried to stand and her knees had instantly buckled beneath her. Never in her life had she felt so _weak_, so _useless_.

To her side, she could hear the intermittent splash of water, which, she assumed, was being poured into a bath. After some time, it stopped and she heard instead the jangle of metal clanging against metal. _Keys_, she thought, hoped, and prayed.

The bag was drawn from her head, jerking her chin backwards and instantly, her eyes started streaming again. The light was so much brighter up here than it was for those few instances in which the pit had been opened. But through the blur she could see a guard approaching her with something shining in his fingers. Morgana blinked, rapidly, desperate to clear her vision. She waited with baited breath as the guard found the correct key, taking her shacked wrists in his hand.

_Click_.

The lock turned. But Morgana's magic did not return.

When she had first been imprisoned, she had studied the cuffs the best she was able. And just left to the centre of them had been a tiny keyhole that seemed utterly pointless. Now, she had found out what it was for. The cuffs came apart at the centre, allowing her hands to separate but not freeing her wrists entirely. She was still bound, as was her magic.

The guard had taken a knife and was using it to rip the sleeves of her gown so that they could slip over the cuffs. He was careless , however, or perhaps it was Morgana's shaking that caused the knife to cut the flesh beneath, rather than the material. Not that she noticed. She was too numb in her disbelief- that she had come so close to freedom, only to be fooled once again by these cursed cuffs.

She only noticed she was alone when the door slammed shut as the guards left her, the lock sliding into place.

Morgana gazed around, not really taking in what she was seeing. She was in the antechamber of a bedroom- obviously one which was inhabited. She refused to think what that could mean for her, just yet. The bath was steaming, off to her left and she figured that it would do no harm to use it. She had spent who knew how long resting in her own filth down in that pit and it could be some time before she received such luxuries again.

She awkwardly stripped herself of her gown, so that she only wore the shift beneath. The black gown had once been finely made, bought by the money she had earned as a healer. There had been something special about it, she had thought, or maybe it was because it was one of the first items of luxury she had bought with gold that _she_ had _earned_, rather than something that was handed to her, or something that she had stolen.

Now it was almost unrecognisable. She had gotten used to the stench but somehow seeing the grime made it all the more obvious to her olfactory senses. She left it on the floor, making her way over to the bath on unsteady legs. Slipping out of her shift and letting it pool on the ground beneath her feet, she stepped into the bath, ignoring the burning of the water on her skin.

She concentrated on scrubbing herself clean, her mind still unwilling to process more than one thing at a time, and this seemed to be the safest. And so, she washed, trying to clean not only her body but her slowly fracturing mind as well. Her actions were slow- she didn't have the strength nor the energy to speed them up. Even walking across the room under her own power had made her feel faint. Slowly, slowly, she leaned backwards, holding her breath as she dunked her head under the water, lying there, tugging her fingers through her hair, until her lungs burned.

Would it be so bad, she pondered, if she were to just stay there, under the warm water until the air in her lungs could no longer support her feeble bodies needs?

Yes. Yes it would.

She broke the surface of the water, gasping. A fire that she had been missing inside her for some time now had just been relit. She was here for a reason- this was her chance to appeal to the Sarrum, to help Aithusa. What would become of the little dragon (Morgana was slowly beginning to realise that she would _always_ think of Aithusa as little, no matter how big she grew) if Morgana just gave up and let herself die?

It didn't bear thinking about.

Suddenly rather conscious that a guard or the Sarrum could walk in at any moment, Morgana decided that it was perhaps time for her to wake up and face reality once more. She could not lounge in this water, lovely as it was, any longer. _Everything_ came with a price, after all.

She had just risen from the water and grabbed a blanket to dry herself with when she looked across the room and noticed that she was not alone. Another woman, another captive by the look of her, was standing there, naked as the day she was born. She must have been here some time, Morgana noted, feeling sad for the poor girl. Her ribs protruded from her body and her stomach was caved inwards. Her body was hunched over in a defeated posture and she was trembling. Did she know, Morgana wondered, what was going to happen to them now? Had she been through this before? Morgana pushed back the curtain of hair from her face and went to look at her properly, to perhaps introduce herself and learn what was to happen to them, when the girl looked straight back at her, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks.

It was only when Morgana met the other girls eyes, so hauntingly familiar, that she realised that she was, in fact, alone.

The girl, her fellow captive, was herself. Her reflection in a looking glass.

Feeling sick at the sight of herself, she turned away. It was then that the door behind her opened and in her quick dash to preserve her modesty with the blanket clutched between her fingers and her attempt to turn to see who had intruded upon her, her knees gave way beneath her, and she found herself on the floor, looking up into the smiling face of the Sarrum.

He quickly crossed the few paces towards her, grabbing her roughly by the hair, as he had the day she had so unwittingly walked into his trap, pulling her head back. Her chin brushed the crotch of his trousers and she jerked her head back a little more, automatically. He didn't seem to notice.

"It seems that even you know your place, witch," he uttered, scathingly. "On your knees, before me."

Morgana knew that somewhere, deep inside her mind, there was a retort as derisive and mocking as she could manage, waiting to escape. But, for the life of her, she could not find it. Not as she was, there, kneeling before him with nothing but a blanket to cover her. Instead, she could only think of one thing.

"I said I would do anything you wished, for Aithusa's wings to be unbound. Do we have a deal?" She was proud that her voice was firm, steady, and did not shake, even though her body betrayed her.

The Sarrum laughed at her, and somehow that laugh was more demeaning that being at his mercy, on her knees, before him. "Oh we do indeed, my dear. Should you perform..." he bent and whispered his final word in her ear, "adequately." He seemed to be sniffing at her hair, and Morgana almost forgot how to breathe. "Yes, should you live up to my expectations, I will release your dragons wings."

Morgana tried to speak normally, though her voice came out unnaturally harsh. "Then what would you have me do?"

He pulled back a bit, looking at her queerly. "Have you really not figured it out yet?" His question sounded genuine, and she shook her head, ignoring the tugging of her hair. "Well," the glimmer in his eye and the leer on his face made her heart rise to her throat, "that should make this _very_ interesting."

And before she could do anything, even think anything, she found herself being dragged into the main bedchamber, blanket lying forgotten on the floor behind her. He was rough as he forced her onto the bed, tying ropes that appeared as if from nowhere around her wrists. Panicking a bit, as the reality of the situation finally caught up with her, Morgana struggled, but it was too little, too late. She was lying in the middle of the four-poster bed, on her stomach, wrists attached by a length of rope to the corner posts at its head, and her ankles caught the same way, before she could kick out, to the posts at its foot.

Panic rolled in her gut and she let out a strangled cry as she tugged on the ropes ineffectively. Unable to escape, unable to do _anything_, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Surely, it couldn't be _that_ bad, could it? During her time in Camelot, she had heard other ladies, those who had married, talk of the husbands talents in the bedchamber. Others complained of their lack of enthusiasm. But none had described the horror and panic she was feeling now. Really, there was nothing to be frightened of, was there?

Beside her, she could hear the clatter of armour, the rustle of clothes, as her captor undressed.

It was just, Morgana had never experienced _this _before. _Sex_. In Camelot, she was expected to keep her virtue so that she would be uncompromised when she was married off to whichever suitor Uther found desirable enough for her. Afterwards, with Morgause, when she realised that it no longer mattered for she would never marry simply for _Uther's_ wishes, she had still found it hard to shrug off two decades of teachings and indoctrinations. Foregoing everything she had been taught about the nature of magic was enough. And whilst Morgause was so open about her own sexuality and exploits- almost using sex as a weapon- she had certainly never pushed her younger sister to do the same. Later, Agravaine had wanted her, but she knew she would never give herself to him, and whilst she teased Helios, flirted with him as she had with Arthur all those years ago (now _that_ was a disturbing thought), she had _never..._would never...

"Look at me."

So lost in her own terrified thoughts, Morgana had almost missed the command. Her eyes shot open in surprise and she turned her head, only to be greeted by...

She knew about basic human anatomy, of course. She had been well schooled, and there was always some young couple in Camelot having a quick tryst in the shadows when they thought no one was watching, or a drunken knight taking a piss against a wall. But, to be confronted so suddenly with his penis, already half erect at the sight of her, made her draw away. The dread that was growing within her was reaching its peak, and she pulled back, only for him to make a grab at her face and bring her closer to him. Despite herself, she whimpered.

Unable to look at the dreadful sight any longer, she concentrated on the rest of his body. He was not, she discovered, like any of the knights she had once admired in Camelot. His body had lost its tone and muscle to fat and flab, that he hid well inside his armour. His skin was pale, thin scars running across it in various places and directions.

He was, she thought, the type of man she had always dreaded Uther marrying her off to.

She wasn't able to think any longer, which may have been a blessing, with the direction her thoughts were running, for the Sarrum pulled her chin, opening her mouth, and pushed his phallus inside it. Morgana immediately gagged, and he tutted. As she coughed and spluttered, he mocked her, "How will you ever free your dragon if you can't even do this, you daft girl."

It was enough of an incentive. Morgana swallowed her revulsion and, still entirely unsure of what she was supposed to be doing, sucked down on him. It seemed to work- his hips gyrated and he let out moans that made Morgana feel wretched with disgust and tears prickled in the corners of her eyes.

After an age, he drew himself out of her mouth and, eyes dark with lust, clambered onto the bed with her with all the grace of a bull.

Somehow, not being able to see what he was doing was worse than the alternative. Her fear increased tenfold, though she wasn't sure how that was possible, as he mounted her, and she felt him pushing, almost tentatively, at her opening.

Morgana was not aroused in the slightest, and to push himself inside her required the Sarrum to use some force. Morgana bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from crying out in pain as he took a few shallow thrusts. But it was too much to bear in silence, when he then fully pushed himself inside her, and she swore she felt something rip and tear in there. She let out a choking cry that broke off into a sob as he moaned in pleasure and she could feel him vibrating inside her as he laughed.

"So, Uther's little princess stayed a maiden after all," he bent down and she could feel his chest on her back, crushing her. Groping at her breasts, he crowed in her ear, "I'm sure Daddy would be very proud." His breath was hot along the back of her neck and it made her writhe in revulsion and fear.

As he continued pounding into her, making revolting noises of pleasure, she sobbed at the pain. _How_ could the ladies of the court she had once spoken to _enjoyed_ this? How was it pleasurable _in the slightest?_ Her insides burned, as though they were being ripped apart with every stroke. Urgently, she tugged more and more at the ropes biding her arms, _needing_ to get free. She even tried to buck his great weight off her, but it seemed to only spur him on all the more.

In the end, she felt him shudder above her as something warm spilled itself inside her and he collapsed on top of her, panting wildly. At this point, Morgana knew, knew more certainly than anything else she had discovered in her life, that she had been wronged, been violated. Now, she felt too much of everything to distinguish any particular emotion, but her sobs wracked her body all the same.

She dressed, still under his gaze, and was being lowered back into that horrendous pit, before she could comprehend what had happened. Aithusa was looking up at her as she settled, this time completely on the ground beneath, with wide eyes full of terror. Before the pit was sealed and the light had left them, Morgana already felt too ashamed to look at the innocent dragon, and dropped her eyes to the floor, still trembling in the wake of everything that had befallen her.

Nonetheless, Aithusa seemed to understand the extent of what had happened and just as the pit closed, she pointed her head up towards the light, towards the guards and towards the Sarrum, and _roared_.

**A.N. **_Phew! That wasn't half as bad to write as I expected. First time writing anything even vaguely M rated. Please, please, let me know your thoughts on this chapter! _

_**~Sweetdeath04**_


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